e way. A rushing sound as of many waters came
gurgling in her ears, dulling the voice of some one who spoke from far
off.

"What are they saying?" In vain she tried to catch the words, to speak,
to move: then, gathering up all her strength, with a piercing cry she
tried to break the spell. The room reeled, the ground beneath her gave
way, a hundred voices shrieked good-bye, and with their clamor ringing
in her ears Eve's spirit went down into silence and darkness. Another
minute, and she was again alive to all her misery: Joan was kneeling
beside her, the tears streaming from her eyes.

"What is it? Where's Adam?" exclaimed Eve, starting up.

"Gone," said Joan: "he said 'twas better to, 'fore you comed to yourself
agen."

"Gone! and never said a word?" she cried. "Gone! Oh, Joan, how could he?
how could he?"

"What would 'ee have un do, then?" said Joan sharply. "Bide dallyin'
here to be took by the hounds o' sodgers that's marchin' 'pon us all?
That's fine love, I will say." But suddenly a noise outside made them
both start and stand listening with beating hearts until all again was
still and quiet: then Joan's quick-roused anger failed her, and,
repenting her sharp speech, she threw her arms round Eve's neck, crying,
"Awh, Eve, don't 'ee lets you and me set 'bout quarrellin', my dear, for
if sorrow ain't a-drawin' nigh my name's not Joan Hocken. I never before
felt the same way as I do to-night. My spirits is gived way: my heart
seems to have falled flat down and died within me, and, be doing what I
may, there keeps soundin' in my ears a nickety-knock like the tappin' on
a coffin-lid."

CHAPTER XXXI.

Since the night on which Jonathan's arrival had plunged the party
assembled at Zebedee Pascal's into such dismay a week had passed
by--seven days and nights of terror and confusion.

The determined manner in which the government authorities traced out
each clew and tracked every scent struck terror into the stoutest
hearts, and men who had never before shrunk from danger in any open form
now feared to show their faces, dared not sleep in their own houses,
nor, except by stealth, visit their own families. At dead of night, as
well as in the blaze of day, stealthy descents would be made upon the
place, the houses surrounded and strict search made. One hour the
streets would be deserted, the next every corner bristled with rude
soldiery, flinging insults and imprecations on the feeble old men and
defenceless wo